


One Man, One Bullet

by spf500



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Assassins & Hitmen, F/F, Nothing graphic but it is in there, Rape/Non-con Elements, Suicide Attempt, if you squint this is a parable about how capitalism makes us all feel powerless, squint even harder and you might be able to figure out what city i set this in
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-03
Updated: 2019-03-03
Packaged: 2019-11-08 11:53:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17980835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spf500/pseuds/spf500
Summary: Margo didn’t particularly like killing people; she was just very good at it. And some people deserved it.Prompt fill forthemagicianspromtps- Eliot and Margo as rival assassins. They keep a tally over who gets the kill when they're after the same target. They also drink together and seduce pretty boys together in between assignments





	One Man, One Bullet

**Author's Note:**

  * For [highkingmariot](https://archiveofourown.org/users/highkingmariot/gifts).



> Title from Mad Max: Fury Road.
> 
> This is set vaguely in another universe where being an assassin is more of an accepted job, I guess? Maybe the Scott Pilgrim universe. Murder seems to be a respectable career path there.

Margo walked into Safe Haven Domestic Abuse Shelter at 10:00 bright and early on a Monday morning, sun shining, birds singing, badly hungover, and deeply pissed off that Rafe had thought it was okay to schedule a meeting this early in the morning. Sadly, as her patron used to tell her all the time, maintaining a good image as a reliable professional and businesswoman was almost as important to being an assassin as the, you know, actual killing bit. That bitch might have been a heartless glacier, but she knew how to get shit done.

Really, Margo grumbled to herself, she should have just turned this one down. She still had a good chunk of the money from the Lorian ambassador deal, and she didn’t normally take last minute cases. But, no, past Margo had seen the name “Fen Henckels”—recent graduate from Penn State Law and and rising star for her part in taking down Christopher Plover’s human trafficking ring—and had immediately decided that she just _had_ to work with her.

Safe Haven was small, on a relatively calm road tucked between a souvenir shop on one side and a Chinese bakery on the other. The lobby was sparse and rather run-down, but neat and clean, the wood floors gleaming in the sunlight. You almost couldn’t smell the scent of garbage wafting in from outside. The woman at the front desk pointed Margo down the hall and to the left, to a door covered in flaking paint and with a little sign reading “Administration.” Margo eyed it warily. Nothing about this place screamed “able to make rent on a regular basis,” much less “able to afford the services of Margo Hanson, Licensed Assassin.”

Upon entering, Margo was greeted with the sight of an office that could have comfortably housed two people, but was instead being shared by five. The room was filled to the brim with mismatched chairs, family photos, cards, memorandum, the hum of desktop computers—yes, _desktop_ computers, as in, 2005 Apple Macs—and piles of paper that seemed to be breeding as Margo watched. On one wall was a poster showing a stock photo landscape and the words “Challenge: Without difficulties life would be like a stream without rocks or curves. -Tao of Pooh.” Margo half-expected to see her high school guidance counselor.

A harried-looking Korean woman glanced up at Margo. “Can I help you?”

“I’m looking for Fen Henckels.”

“Legal aid is the desk all the way to the back on the right,” she said, jerking a thumb over her shoulder in the vague direction of a desk largely obscured by a small potted tree.

Margo thanked the woman, then walked briskly towards the tree. Behind it, she could see two women sitting side-by-side. One of them, a largely unremarkable woman dressed in a lavender blouse, seemed to be on the verge of tears. “…he’s an awful man,” she was saying. The other woman simply nodded tightly. The second woman was stunningly gorgeous, dressed in a black blazer with long wavy brown hair tumbling over her white shirt. She seemed much more together, and was probably Fen, Margo thought to herself. She went up to the two of them.

“I’m Margo Hanson. Ms. Henckels, I presume?” Margo held out her hand to the brunette, whose eyebrow quirked up in amusement.

“Julia Wicker, actually.”

The other woman straightened up, clearing her throat. For a moment she actually looked like she could have been the kind of person who had faced off in court with some of with some of the city’s most dangerous criminals.

 “I’m Ms. Henckels, associate with Pickwick and Tick. But you can call me Fen!” she added in a cheery voice, immediately ruining the illusion. _This_ was Fen Henckels? This overly-emotional white girl? This day was _not_ off to an auspicious start.

“Is this the…most secure place to talk?” asked Margo, with a pointed glance at Julia.  

“Oh, don’t worry!” Fen rushed to assure her. “Julia is actually the client, and everyone else here is far too busy to think too hard about us. Please, sit down.”

Margo sighed, then sat down in a rickety chair. Fen did seem to have a point—everyone else in the room was so absorbed in their own work that Margo could probably have killed Fen and Julia on the spot and no one would notice until she was halfway to Canada. And judging from the state of the shelter, it wasn’t making enough money to be on anyone’s radar. Even if the room was bugged, there was no way anyone could make anything out over the sounds of seven people crammed into a very small room.

“Well then, let’s get down to business. Does Julia here need me to take care of a little problem that just won’t go away? Some frat boy who followed her home one night?” Margo could feel her chance at a legitimately interesting case slipping away, and it pissed her off.

“No, actually-” started Fen.

“I was raped.” Julia cut her off, steely gaze looking directly at Margo. “And the pers-the _monster_ who did it, is still out there, living life like he never did anything wrong in his life.” She spit this out. Margo’s annoyance softened just the tiniest bit. Sure, she put up a hard front, but solidarity, yeah? She had a heart, she _cared_ , sometimes. And the pain in Julia’s eyes was real. Still-

“That fucking blows, and I totally understand the desire to bodily harm someone who hurt you that badly, but why do you need me? Why is a lawyer, for fucks sake, calling me in?”

Fen met Margo’s eyes for a moment, then looked down again, uncertain. “We’ve tried litigating against him, believe me, but everything I’ve tried gets thrown out of court immediately.”

“Oh, so he’s a rich bastard?”

“Hm. Well, yes, but also, well, you see, he’s, um, rather important-“

“Jesus, was Julia raped by Jeff Bezos or something? just spit it out,” snapped Margo impatiently.

Fen’s raised her head quickly, affronted. “No. It was Richard Gaines. You know, father of U.S. senator John Spencer Gaines?”

Margo drew in a quick breath. Richard Gaines—more commonly known as Reynard, corrupt businessman and purported leader of the biggest criminal network in America. His name had been linked to hundreds of brutal deaths over the years, but no one had ever been able to pin a crime on him.

“That’s a big fucking ask.”

“I know. Look, people far more powerful than I have been trying for _years_ to take this guy down. I figured it was time to try a different approach.”

“I appreciate your creativity and willingness to break the law, but what makes you think I can do it? I’m sure plenty of people over the years have tried to assassinate him.”

“That’s why we wanted you; you’re the best.” Fen smiled trustingly up at Margo, and Margo could feel her ego swelling just a bit.

“And let’s be honest,” added Julia darkly, “this man is a serial rapist. He thinks women are _objects_ to be toyed with then thrown away. There’s no way he’ll believe that someone like you could ever pull this off.”

Margo thought this over, nodding slowly. She was starting to like Julia. The more she thought about it, the more interesting this job seemed. It would be a real _challenge_ , not to mention quite the resume builder.

“Okay, I’ll do it, but I’m doubling my normal rate and I want half up-front for something as risky and complicated as this.”

The other two hesitated, trading glances. Margo’s stomach dropped. Please, let this not be leading to what she thought it was-

“Actually,” started Fen, “we were hoping, that maybe you could do this for a reduced rate?”

“The _fuck_.”

“Look at this place!” Julia spread her arms out, indicating the shabby office. “I can’t afford to find anywhere nicer to stay, much less an _assassin._ I’m a student! And Fen’s working here pro bono—I can’t ask her to use her savings for this, not when she still has student loans, and-”

Margo did not give a flying fuck. “You want me to risk my life and reputation on a _charity_ case? What, you thought, I would do this out of some sisterly bond?”

“No.” The sudden fierceness in Fen’s voice shocked Margo. “We want you to do your job and get rid of a man who preys on the weak and unfortunate. This man has ruined so many lives and still escapes punishment! This would be justice for hundreds, thousands of people out there, justice the courts have been unable to give them. No one should be above punishment. I believe in the law, I’ve devoted _my life_ to it, but sometimes the law isn’t enough. Sometimes, to make the world a better place, you have to take matters into your own hands.” Fen finally met Margo’s eyes, her level gaze filled with a cold fury. Suddenly, Margo understood why this woman had risen so quickly through the ranks. Unfortunately, Margo was rather immune to guilt trips by now.

“That’s a nice speech, but speeches aren’t gonna pay my bills.”

 “I had thought that _you_ , of all people would want to help.” Fen looked at her, all, was that disappointed? For fuck’s sake.

“I’m sorry, honey, but next time you decide to use ethics and the law as incentive, you should make sure that you aren’t talking to someone who ignores both for a living. Pay me in full, or find someone else.”

And with that, Margo got up and stomped out of the room, unable to ignore something that felt suspiciously like guilt weighing her down.  

  


* * *

  


Margo fumed for the whole ride back, changing gears with such ferocity that she half expected the shifter to just pop off in her hands altogether. The audacity! Asking her to go after one of the most notorious criminals for a _reduced fee_. God. People just didn’t respect industry professionals any more. This is what she got for starting off her career by becoming a widow.

See, Margo knew there was another reason Fen and Julia had picked her for this job, and it wasn’t just because she was the best (though she was). Margo had a reputation for being…less than sympathetic towards presumptuous men. Right after graduating college her patron, that milky-skinned bitch, had forced Margo into marrying a very rich, very abusive CEO with a mommy complex and bloodthirsty tendencies, giving her patron unprecedented access to her competitor’s business. That had been the last straw for Margo. She got herself out from under her patron’s thumb (not via murder, surprisingly) and spent quite a lot of time researching poisons and how to get a no-questions-asked offshore banking account, before, all of a sudden, she came home one day to find dear, darling, Fomar dead. Really, officer, she had no idea how all of this had happened!

Of course there were rumors—there were always rumors—but no one had ever been able prove, exactly, that Fomar’s sudden heart attack was due to anything but stress, and Margo Agate-Grey had retreated into a quiet, premature widowhood. Soon after, a Margo Hanson had started making her presence known in the professional targeted killing field. Obviously, these two things were in no way connected.

At the time, using her personal success story to build her reputation had seemed like a good idea, but Margo was starting to regret it. Now everyone with a sob story and half a brain thought they could plead to her bleeding heart. This was _not_ how she had wanted things to go.

  


* * *

  


“You know what?” Margo broke her brooding silence. “Being an assassin for hire is almost as bad as that time I worked at a Target for two weeks in high school.” She flicked the edge of her empty glass with her fingernail in annoyance. Her meeting with Fen had been a solid twelve hours ago, and she was still mad.

“Uh-huh,” said Eliot, who was sitting next to her at the bar. He was already drunk, which seemed to be his default setting more and more these days.

“People think they can just waltz in acting like they know how to do my job better than me, then have the BALLS to ask me for free stuff anyways.”

Eliot shifted a little, sighed. “Is this still about your meeting this morning?”

“Yes! I just can’t believe they wanted to hire me, ME, for a reduced fee! It’s an insult, is what it is. And the worst bit is, it would have been such a _cool_ assignment…” she trailed off glumly, and a little tipsily. God, she was not drunk enough yet. Eliot apparently agreed with the sentiment, because he gestured for the bartender to refill her glass.

“Would it be so very difficult to just let this go?” He took a fortifying gulp of his own drink. “Look, Bambi, my heart bleeds for you, but also, this topic of conversation is becoming very passé, very fast. If it’s bothering you that much, just take the job anyways!”

Margo glared at Eliot. “It’s the PRINCIPAL of the matter, Eliot, dammit. I take one charity case, and then where the fuck does that leave me? People find out and suddenly everyone thinks I’m a pushover who’ll do their dirty work for cheap. It’s a slippery slope.”

Eliot rolled his eyes at her. “Fine,” he sighed airily. “You can continue to stew, but I’m not letting the evening go to waste. There’s a cute guy over there just begging to be graced with my presence.” He got up, pressing a kiss to her forehead as he left.

“Oh, shut the fuck up,” she called after him, but fondly. She knew better than to be too insulted by Eliot; they knew each other too well at this point. Eliot, like Margo, was also an assassin. He and Margo had met because they were in the same local chapter of the Assassin’s Union. The party where they had met they both went for the last glass of champagne, creating a rivalry for the ages. That rivalry had been put on hold later that night, however, when Peter fucking Connell had given a speech with an extended comedic bit largely based on how awful millennials were which everyone else found tremendously funny. As Margo and Eliot were by far the youngest people in the room, they had of course had to rally together and make the rest of the night absolute hell for anyone who thought that gays and women of dubious ethnic origins should not be allowed into the upstanding American tradition of professionals who kill people for money.

Since then, the two of them had been friendly competitors during the workday, and fast friends outside of it. If nothing else, they made for a fantastic sartorial duo. Tonight, Eliot’s subtly striped plum vest magnificently complemented Margo’s dramatically flaring dress.

“Hey,” Eliot was back. “Isn’t that man over there the one who hired us both for the job, but separately?” He was looking towards a table in the back.

“No, that guy was a blond. And a dick,” added Margo reflexively. “What happened to picking up a cute guy?”

“Much like Monet’s “Water Lilies,” he turned out to be cuter from a distance. Also, for the record, that kill totally counts for both of us.”

Margo and Eliot had an ongoing competition to see who could rack up the biggest hit count, which might be considered by some to be a little morbid, or even insensitive, but how else were two hyper-competitive killers-for-hire supposed to bring a little fun to the workplace? Margo was currently winning.

“What? No way, dickhole. That was ALL me.”

Eliot frowned. “Fine, I concede.”

Shit. Eliot was _much_ worse off than she’d thought, if he was already backing down. He’d been off lately, after that whole business with Mike. Normally, they’d be able to keep up their banter endlessly, but Eliot kept losing the thread of the conversation, or just losing interest.

But it was fine.

They were coping.

“El, baby,” Margo looked brightly up at Eliot, “What do you think about that adorable little twink over by the bathroom? Potential?”

Eliot eyes focused back in, stuttered over to where Margo was leaning her head. He smirked. “Definitely has potential. But, twink, really? Do you _see_ those knock-off boat shoes?”

“Well, there’s only one way to find out,” Margo grinned predatorily up at him. “First one to go home with him wins?”

“You’re on.”

“May the best woman win.”

  


* * *

  


The next day Margo woke to a voice message from Fen, apologizing for the less-than-professional manner in which she had handled things yesterday, and wondering if maybe Margo could stop by her office—real office, that is, at the law firm—so they could have another go at negotiations, maybe, oh, around 11:30? If she weren’t too busy? They could get lunch?

Fen’s clear uncertainty and desire to please put Margo’s teeth on edge, but in the cold light of day she had to admit that perhaps she had also not handled the situation in the most…mature manner yesterday. Plus, Fen’s company seemed like the kind of people who would pay for her lunch. So, she called Fen back confirming that, yes, she would be just _delighted_ to give their professional relationship a second chance, then began the onerous task of preparing herself for a Business Lunch.

It went something like this:

  1. Spend thirty minutes scrolling through Instagram.
  2. Consider getting out of bed, but then get distracted for another twenty minutes by Facebook.
  3. Finally make it out of bed and into the kitchen, spend half an hour nursing a mug of coffee and squinting into the morning sun, watching pigeons shit on the balcony.
  4. Bang on window to scare pigeons off.
  5. Take a shower.
  6. Spend fifteen minutes debating on whether to wear the pantsuit or her business casual romper. Settle on the pantsuit, but with much hesitation.
  7. Tear apartment apart looking for that one Cole Haan bag only to find it already in her car.
  8. Get into a shouting match with a neighbor about parking space etiquette.
  9. Finally make it out of the apartment complex and into the sunny spring day.



  


* * *

  


Pickwick and Tick law offices were about as different from Safe Haven Domestic Abuse Shelter as it was possible to be while still sharing the same zip code. They were in a glitzy new high rise downtown, all glass windows and gridded steel accents. Not only did this building scream “We don’t even think about paying the rent,” it also screamed “And if you can’t, fuck off.” 

Upon arriving, Fen’s personal secretary waspishly informed Margo that Fen was currently in a meeting, and that Margo must have gotten the time wrong, as Fen didn’t take her lunch break until noon sharp. Margo, annoyed but not surprised that Fen had managed to double-book her, stared stonily at the secretary until he gestured Margo towards a chair. He _supposed_ she could wait until Ms. Henckels was free, he said in a condescending tone of voice that made Margo want to punch him. Instead she stole his pen while he wasn’t looking.

Fen had a waiting room leading for her office; the space was easily twice the size of the shared administrative office at Safe Haven. For all the glam, Margo didn’t love it. The space felt cold and impersonal, and like it wanted you out of there. It didn’t help that the chairs in the waiting room were some kind of modern plastic bullshit which were slightly less comfortable than the average high school bleacher and the only reading material available to stave off boredom was a magazine listing all the law firms in the city. Instead, she resorted to an old standby: eavesdropping.

Fen seemed to be in a meeting with two other people, a woman and a man. The man’s low rumble was cut off as Margo tuned into their conversation.

“I’m telling you, I will take a restraining order out on your ass,” said a vaguely familiar voice. Was that…Julia? She sounded different from yesterday. There was still that steel in her voice, but there was something else as well— was that fear?

“Julia,” said a smugly placating voice that Margo immediately hated, “do you really think that a restraining order will _do_ anything? Even if you can find a judge who would dare litigate against me—which, let me remind you, won’t be easy—do you think a piece of paper can stop _me?_ ”

The speaker lowered his voice, sending a chill down Margo’s spine. “Sweetheart, you could get a permanent police escort and that still wouldn’t be enough to keep me away. You can’t be protected around the clock. Someday, sometime, you’d slip up, go off on your own just to take a quick trip to the store, or even just to take a nap. And I’d be there. _Waiting_.”

A cold mixture of disgust, fear, and anger was coiling in Margo’s stomach. She wasn’t on the receiving end of this, but just hearing the man say that was enough to set Margo’s nerves jangling. This man was a cold, dangerous fucker. The kind of person who enjoyed others’ pain and fear.

“Why,” Julia’s voice quavered, broke, “why are you doing this to me, Reynard?”

Oh, oh shit. Margo should have seen this coming— Fen had _planned_ this. She had given Margo the wrong time on _purpose._ Manipulative cunt, Margo thought with a twinge of admiration. Maybe Fen wasn’t as spineless as she had first thought.

“Julia, I’m doing this _for_ you. You need to remember your place in the world.” Reynard stated this like a fact. “No _bitch_ ” -he spat the word- “says ‘no’ to me.” God, Margo wanted to wring this evil bastard’s slimy neck.

Fuck.

She was going to have to kill him now.

Suddenly, from the other side of the door, came the sound of a scraping chair.

“Well, as fun as this little tea party has been, ladies, I have real business to attend to. You know where to find me—or, more likely, I’ll find you.”

As the door started opening Margo quickly stuck her legs out and feigned a deep absorption in an article on “2018’s Top Legal Firms.” Reynard, still looking back into the office as he left, didn’t notice her legs.

“Shit!” he stumbled, smacking his hand into the edge of the secretary’s desk in an attempt to save himself. He looked up at Margo with a cold fury in his eyes that Margo willed herself to ignore. He wasn’t the most dangerous person in the room, she reminded herself, mentally running through five different ways she could kill him with her stolen pen.

“Oh? Were you going to apologize?” she asked archly, doing her best to hide her fear.

“You little-” Reynard snarled, reaching out towards Margo with a speed she wouldn’t have expected.

“Mr. Gaines? Did I hear you fall?” Fen stuck her head around the door. Behind her, Margo could see Julia’s face, white and trembling.

“It’s fine,” he snapped, finally picking himself off the floor. He stormed out of the office, still glaring at Margo.

“What a fucking dick,” spat Margo once he was gone.

Fen turned towards Margo, beaming. “Hi Margo! Thanks for coming in ag-”

Margo cut her off. “You did that on purpose! You gave me the wrong time so I would overhear your meeting with Reynard and hate him.” She stared accusingly at Fen. Fen’s smile only got wider.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about. But, theoretically, if I did, did it work?”

Margo scowled. After a few seconds of stewing, she deigned to respond. “…maybe.”

“Great!” Fen cheered. “Let’s go get lunch. I’m starved.”

  


* * *

  


Margo’s gamble had paid off: Fen had a company card, and her company had no qualms about lunching well. The three of them went to an intimate restaurant downtown, one with big sunny windows, fresh bouquets on the tables, and high-thread count linens. There was even a waiter standing by with some weird metal rectangle in his hand that was used to brush crumbs off the tablecloth. She could definitely get used to living like this, Margo thought, savoring her vegan risotto with baked carrot.

Fen, who had been looking over Margo’s standard contract, looked up.

“So, um,” her nervous voice broke through Margo’s reverie, “how, exactly, does this work? I’m new to all…” she gestured vaguely “this.”

“What, hiring a hit-woman? Don’t worry, sweetie. I could tell.”

Fen rolled her eyes, then plowed on. She was practical, Margo could give her that. “Okay, well, yes, but seeing as I _am_ hiring you, is there anything else I need to do, besides signing?”

Margo shrugged. “Not really, unless you have any preferences for manner of death, etc. Though I will be needing any personal information you have on him.” She shifted her focus to Julia, trying as best she could to be, if not sensitive, then at least minimally upsetting. “Julia, can you tell me anything about this bastard that isn’t public knowledge? Daily routine, secret sex lairs, anything that leaves him vulnerable?”

Julia took a breath, toying with her sautéed daikon radish. Margo felt bad to make her think about this whole shitcluster, but she needed information if she wanted to pull this off.

“He- I honestly don’t know how much I can help. I only knew him for about an hour before he,” her voice stumbled, started again, “before he raped me. I was with some friends. We were trying to get into this club, and he offered to get us past the bouncer, and then, and then, I felt like I owed him, which I guess was his goal, so I let him buy me a drink and dance with me. And…it was kind of nice, you know? To get singled out for the attention.

“But then, well, I went to the bathroom, and he followed me and locked the door, and he said…said that I should be glad. Wouldn’t stop texting me after, following me home from work. He said I should be flattered that a _nothing_ like me had caught his attention.” She lifted her head, meeting Margo’s eyes, half-challenge, half-question.

Margo was struck once again by how _furious_ it made her that this son of a bitch had thought it was his right to absolutely fucking RUIN this woman’s life.

“Julia,” she lowered her voice, taking Julia’s hand, “You are worth a thousand of that hairy assfucker.”

Julia shook her head, clearly fighting back tears. “God, I just wish I could make him _pay_.”

“Oh, leave that to the professionals, honey. I’ll make that son of a twat wish he’d never crawled out of his mother’s befucked babyhole.”

Fen laughed at that, loud and startled. She quickly covered her mouth, looking rather adorable, Margo had to admit. “Sorry, that was- I don’t know anyone else who swears that creatively.”

Margo brightened up. “Well, now that that’s over, who wants dessert?”

-

Julia had to leave to get back to work, but Margo and Fen lingered over slices of tiramisu (Margo), strawberry cheesecake (Fen), and matching cups of black coffee.

“How did you become an assassin, anyways?”

Margo shrugged, sipping her coffee. “Same way anyone gets a job in anything, I guess. You graduate college, realize you’re massively in debt, then desperately apply to any job that you’re vaguely qualified for. I had a…family friend who got me started in this career, showed me the ropes, and it turned out I was pretty good at it.” She paused, but Fen said nothing. Margo felt weirdly compelled to keep talking.  “You know, if people bother to ask me about my job at all, usually they want to know if I feel like an awful person for killing people.”

Fen’s eyes were searching on Margo’s face. “Do you?”

Margo shrugged. “It’s not like I take joy out of it, or anything. At the end of the day, it’s just a job, and plenty of people have jobs where they do stuff they hate. If society is so determined to make life intolerable for everyone but the ultra-rich, fuck it, I say. Might as well help them kill each other off.”

Seeing the look on Fen’s face, she added, (a little more harshly than she meant) “Does it bother you that I kill people for money?”

Fen frowned. “I don’t think you’re a bad person Margo.”

Now Margo was frowning. “That wasn’t what I asked.”

Fen arched a brow. “Besides, I hired you. What does that say about me?”

“You’d be surprised at the number of people that hire assassins who feel they’re morally superior for not committing the deed themselves. At least I’m aware of the consequences of my actions.”

Fen cocked her head. “Well, just because I have a moral compass doesn’t mean I’m not a professional at turning it off. And Julia, and all those other woman out there who the law _won’t_ help, they deserve justice. The world will be a better place with Reynard _dead_. I would do it myself, but I wouldn’t be able to get the job done right. Bastard has it coming.”

A slightly shocked smile started growing on Margo’s face. Kitty cat had a hiss, after all. Margo could admire a woman with that much steel to her. She raised her mug to Fen. “Damn right the bastard had it coming.”

  


* * *

  


Afterwards Margo headed to a public library, looking to use a computer anonymously. One of Fen’s questions was still rattling around Margo’s head as the computer logged in: “How are you going to get the information you need if Julia can’t help?”

Margo scoffed at the memory. Everybody knew that a good assassin couldn’t rely on the client to provide good information. An essential part to planning a hit was research. And at this point, Margo had a pretty solid system in place.

Step 1: Google.

  


* * *

  


Google, unfortunately, didn’t have much info besides an address for Reynard’s house and a list of all the awards he had won. If she wanted anything more, she’d have to start hitting the pavement.

Time for step 2: Networking.

But then she checked her phone and realized Eliot still hadn’t texted her back. Margo sighed. She really should go make sure he wasn’t lying half-dead in a pool of his own vomit, because God knows nobody else was going to. She hated to admit it to herself, but she was honestly starting to worry about him. She knew the Mike situation had been hard on him, but surely by now things should starting to improve…

 

Step 2: ~~Networking~~ Bitching at Eliot.

  


* * *

  


 “Margo?” Eliot’s sleepy voice came from the other side of the door.

“Yeah, are you gonna open this fucking door or what?”

“Hang on,” he mumbled, fumbling with locks. The door swung open, revealing a clearly still-half-asleep Eliot. Margo shoved a bag containing sandwiches from their favorite bakery into his hands as she sauntered in.

“Jesus, El, it’s 3 o’clock in the afternoon, did you really just get up?”

“Well, _some_ of us had more pressing matters to attend to last night. And early this morning.” Eliot lit a cigarette and smiled innocently at her when she glared. (She had not been the one to win the bet last night.) “What’s got you so hot and bothered?” She yanked some glasses from the cupboards, then leaned against the counter, trying her damnedest to look casual.

“If, theoretically, I were looking to make a major American politician/crime boss shaped problem go away, what would be the best way to go about doing it?”

Eliot immediately saw through her. “I thought you said you weren’t taking the job. What happened to morals being for pussies?”

She scowled. “I ran into Reynard earlier. He’s a walking toxic waste dump.”

“Okay, but you hate everyone you meet.”

“Hey, this time I have _reasons._ Plus, Fen gave me these terrible puppy eyes.”

“Well, seeing as I need some more information, I would go talk to Kady.”

“Fuuuuck,” Margo groaned, turning back towards the counter. “Kady hates me.”

“You said ‘theoretically.’’ Eliot shrugged. “This sure is a convoluted way to show a girl you like her.”

That distracted her from her dilemma. “What th- fuck you!”

 “Mm-hm. Sure. Because you’d do a job at a reduced fee for anyone. Ow, Bambi!” -that last bit was because Margo punched him in the arm- “Fine, I’ll shut up. Pour me a glass of that, will you?”

Margo handed him a glass, grabbed the sandwiches and placed them on the coffee table, and then flopped down onto Eliot’s couch. Eliot followed, propping his legs in her lap.

“Hey, Adiyodi contacted me the other day, apparently he’s been having issues with transport through the Neitherlands and wants me to take care of a few things for him. It’s a two-person job, though.”

“I’m already on one job, El.”

“This one is small, no planning on your part required. And if you really do want to go after Reynard, you’ll need someone to help get rid of the evidence afterwards, and you know he’s the best.”

Margo considered this.

William Adiyodi was the go-to guy for removing all evidence. He could make you disappear, or at least all evidence pointing to your existence disappear. After his work was done, it would look like the assassin had teleported in and out of the room. It would be good to get his help on this one, and the guy was normally so booked up that the only way to jump the queue was to do a job for him in turn.

Killing someone required very little planning. Not going to jail, however, required quite a lot.

“Mmm, I guess I can fit you in.” She stretched lazily. “Move over, I wanna eat.” She grabbed a plate and pulled it towards her. She had gotten herself a small croque monsieur, which she was telling herself counted as a snack. Plus, if she didn’t eat, Eliot definitely wouldn’t remember to. She shoved the panini in El’s direction.

They munched on their sandwiches in companionable silence for a while.

Once they were done, Eliot draped himself bonelessly over the arm of the couch to put his head in her lap. She started idly running her fingers through his hair.

After a moment Eliot twisted his head up to look at her.

“Do you ever think about what you would be if you weren’t an assassin?”

Margo shrugged. “Not really, no.”

He sighed. “I just, sometimes I wonder. I could have been, I don’t know, an actor maybe.”

Margo did not like where this conversation was heading. “You could still be an actor. Lord knows you’re dramatic enough for it.”

“No, I-” Eliot let out a frustrated breath. “We’re both the hottest, most intelligent people we’ve ever met, right? We could be doing something incredible with that, making a real difference in the world, and instead we’re doing- this.”

“Hey, speak for yourself. I’m making plenty of difference in the world.”

“A positive difference, I mean.”

Margo could tell Eliot was getting increasingly annoyed with her, but she didn’t have the energy to navigate his emotional landmine. Sure, maybe she didn’t love her job either, maybe she just felt like a cog in the machine, but you didn’t see _her_ whining about it. Welcome to capitalism, buttercup.

“A job’s a job, Eliot. Not everyone can ‘follow their passion’ or whatever bullshit society’s trying to feed us. Now, where’s your remote? They’re showing reruns of Lost, and I never made it past the whole deal with the freighter people.”

Margo stood up briskly, ignoring the hurt in Eliot’s eyes, and effectively ended the conversation.

  


* * *

  


Step 3: Networking.

Early the next raw spring morning, Margo found herself standing outside the door to an unremarkable little electronics shop, gut clenched and back tense. Inside, she would find Kady. Kady Orloff-Diaz knew everyone, could get you anything you needed, and was in general a walking deus ex machina. Unfortunately, she also currently hated Margo’s guts for…personal reasons.

Well, the only way out was through.

Margo gritted her teeth and pulled open the door.

She blinked, immediately half-blinded from the brightness outside. Inside was dusty, cool, and cramped. The store was lined with shelves of burner phones, power cords, and suspiciously low-priced used smartphones. Margo ignored the man standing at the counter and pushed her way to the back, where she knew Kady kept her office. She knocked, then entered. The small room, so unlike Fen’s large and well-lit office, was immediately more comfortable to Margo. Kady was sitting at her desk, boots up, wearing a flannel over a crop top, and with her curly hair seeming to take up approximately half the oxygen in the room. Kady’s face hardened the minute she saw Margo.

“What do you want from me, Margo?”

“Can’t a girl just want to see an old friend?” Margo sad as sweetly as possible.

“Not when ‘a girl’ is you, no.”

So much for the charm offensive. Well, it’s not like that was ever her strong suit anyways. “Fine. I’m looking for information on Richard Gaines.”

Kady raised an eyebrow, shook her head in disbelief. “Richard Gaines? Like John Spencer Gaines’ dad, Richard Gaines? As in, Reynard, the crime boss, Richard Gaines?”

“The very one.”

Kady pulled a face implying she thought Margo was being extraordinarily stupid. “Well, it’s your funeral, I guess. You must be getting paid well to do this.”

“Would you believe I’m doing it as a charity case?”

Kady snorted. “Margo Hanson, doing something at half price? You never helped anyone for free when you could get paid. You don’t care about anyone but yourself. I should know.”

Margo was being forcibly reminded of why she avoided Kady these days.  “Look, do you know anything, or should I go to someone else?”

“Fine. But after this, we’re quits, okay?” Margo rolled her eyes, but nodded anyways. “What do you need?”

“Anything you’ve got—house plans, security guard details, itinerary, whatever you can find that will help me pin this guy down.”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

Margo left, feeling vaguely satisfied with herself for keeping the interaction professional, and also like maybe things will go right for once.

  


* * *

  


The job for Adiyodi ends in near fiasco.

“Hey, what the _fuck_ happened with you two there?” Adiyodi towered over the two of them, arms crossed. “That was _not_ what we agreed on.”

“Look, we did what you wanted, right? Get your dick untwisted.” Margo was too on-edge after that shitfest to deal with this bullshit as well. Her skin was still itching with disaster, and she really, really, wanted out of this truck.

“I wanted to get a message across, not end up in a full-out fire fight! You assholes should consider yourselves luck if I pay you anything at all after that.”

“Hey,” Margo scrambled up, “You still owe me. I did my part, it’s not my fault this cock couldn’t nut up.”

“C’mon, Bambi, it wasn’t that bad,” Eliot whined. Margo whipped around to glare at Eliot, skin pasty and eyes red.

“Could you give me and my _colleague_ a moment, Adiyodi?” Margo’s voice dripped with poison.

“Yeah, whatever, deal with your shit.” He slammed out of the truck.

“Eliot, are you fucking _high_ right now?”

“It’s just to take the edge off, Bambi.”

 “Jesus tits, El, I can’t always be around to clean up your mess!”

 “I’m not asking you to, _Margo._ ”

“Really? Because it sure seemed like it twenty minutes ago, when you almost got yourself and that driver shot! Do you _want_ to die?”

Eliot, so defensive a moment before, slumped back against the wall of the truck, all the fight seeping out of him. There was a horrible pause where they just stared at each other, her blood running cold.

Finally-

“No,” he whispered, still not meeting her eyes. She took in a shaky breath.

“Fucking- I can’t deal with your shit right now, Eliot. I really can’t.” She turned to walk out of the truck, letting the door slam behind her.

She didn’t understand why he couldn’t just _pull himself together._ She’d done it, after all.

  


* * *

  


The next afternoon Margo was supposed to pick Fen up at her house; she had gotten Reynard’s itinerary from Kady and wanted to discuss potential plans. The idea was that they would get lunch together, see if there was anything Fen could use her lawyer-ly clout on to get Margo an in, and then maybe stalk Reynard a little.

Fen lived about thirty minutes outside the city. Margo, being in a foul mood after yesterday, stewed the whole way over. Still, she couldn’t help but smile when she saw Fen’s house: a cute little bungalow with a front-yard garden and what appeared to be a rabbit hutch. In other words, it looked exactly like a house owned by Fen would look.

Fen rushed out the front door, wearing a loose blouse and choker. “Hi Margo!” Somehow, every time Fen spoke, it sounded like she was using at least two exclamation points. “So, did you get the info you needed?”

“Just about. You ready to plan a murder?”

“I have surprisingly few qualms, even. How do you feel about Thai for lunch?”

“Fantastic.” Margo rolled down the windows, letting the heady smell of growing things post-rain fill the car. Fen fiddled with the radio, finally settling on a station blasting songs from the mid-200s. She turned to look at Margo, still smiling.

“It’s going to be a good day today, don’t you think?”

Well, how was Margo supposed to argue with that smile? She laughed. “You know what, Fen Henckels? You almost make a jaded thing like me believe in hope.”

-

After they had finished lunch Margo checked her phone, noticing to her surprise that she had a voicemail.

“-Ms. Hanson, you are on the records as the emergency contact-”

She stopped breathing.

_Shit._

“Fen,” she tried to hide the quaver in her voice, “I’m gonna have to make a quick detour.”

  


* * *

  


Margo was sitting in a chair next to Eliot’s goddamn hospital bed, watching him breathe. She felt like _she_ hadn’t breathed once in the last hour. Fuck, she had known Eliot was having a bad time of it, but not this bad.

An overdose.

Fuck.

She wasn’t going to move from this spot until he woke up so she could kill him properly for putting her through this.

 “I know things have been bad lately, and I know I’ve been a total bitch to you, but _please_ Eliot. I’m here now.” She blinked hard, trying not to cry.

“I can’t do this without you, El. I’m supposed to- I’m supposed to be killing one of the most powerful men in the city in a few days, and how am I- how am I supposed to keep going if the only person I can stand is dead?”

How had she let things get this out of control? Margo slumped further in her chair, unable to keep looking at him.

“You-” Margo’s head shot up. Had she imagined that?

“You, you just don’t want me to die while I have first spot on the hook-up leaderboard.” Eliot turned his head to look at her, eyes bleary, but open. Margo immediately rushed over to bury her head in Eliot’s chest. He patted her awkwardly on the back as she tried to hide her gasps of relief.

She could breathe, finally.

By the time she straightened up she was angry all over again. She was just so angry, all the time.

 “Ah, fuck! You—you dick. You absolute fucking asshole.”

Eliot smiled weakly up at her from his bed. “I didn’t do it on purpose, Bambi. And, look! I’m still here.”

Didn’t do it on purpose her ASS. Margo glared at him some more. “Don’t you dare ‘Bambi’ me, Eliot. This is serious.”

Something dark passed over Eliot’s face. “Believe me, I’m well aware of that. Or did you miss all these machines I’m hooked up to?” He raised his hand to show off his various tubes.

Margo sat down again, head in her hands. “God, Eliot,” she murmured. “When did it get this bad?”

“I’m just…so tired. I’m so tired of this all.”

A beat.

“We can’t keep going like this, Margo. All this…doing what we’re told, nothing mattering, ever!” He pounded his fist on the bed, then almost immediately let it go lax.

 “I think I really need help this time.”

Margo wanted to close her eyes and never open them again. Unfortunately, she didn’t have that luxury. She took in a deep breath, looked up.

“Okay then, we’ll figure something out. We’ll get you help, And I swear to god this time I’m gonna make sure you’re okay. I love you, Eliot Waugh. You don’t get to die until I say so.” She added that with a finality that squeezed a wet chuckle out of him

“We’re gonna be okay.”

She held out her hand to him. After a moment, he took it, smiling back at her.

  


* * *

  


When she was kicked out of the room after visiting hours ended, she found Fen still sitting in the hallway.

“You didn’t need to stay Fen, but seeing you’re still here we can go back to my apartment and finish planning.” Margo said this brusquely, already walking past Fen.

Fen shrugged, standing up. “It’s fine. I can go back with you now, but are you sure you really want to work right now? After all…” Fen bit her lip, spreading her hands out to gesture at the hospital they were standing in.

“It’s fine. Let’s go.” Margo strode out of the building into the parking lot, leaving Fen no room to do anything but follow.

“Margo, stop. We don’t need to do this right now, you’re clearly upset,”

“I’m _fine._ We need to get this done.”

“Margo.” Fen’s voice caught at her. “Go home, take a moment to process all of this.”

Margo could feel the howling swirling mass inside of her,  the anger, and grief, and just fucking _frustration_ with this world and its desire to break her and everyone she loved. Suddenly everything—all of it, all the injustices and awfulness came crashing down on her. Eliot’s gaping wound of a heart, Julia’s assault, her own shitty forced marriage, it was just too much. She wanted to scream, run her car into a wall, _anything_ to get this poison out of her. Lance the wound, let it come streaming out of her.

She knew she had to tamp down those feelings fast or be swept away with them.

Caring about shit was weak. The only thing that mattered was results.

“No, I cannot do that. Because if I do, if I start—I’ll never stop. And then I’ll be useless to everyone.”

Fen had stopped, arms crossed. “Have you ever considered that maybe an unhealthy attitude like that makes you useless?”

Margo turned on Fen, furious.

 “My best friend is suicidal and there’s _nothing_ I can do about that. We’re all just cogs in a goddamn machine meant to keep men like Reynard in power, doing whatever they like to everyone else. Do you really fucking think me talking about my goddamn feelings will fix ANYTHING?”

Fen walked towards her slowly, hands up. “No Margo, I don’t think it will. But I also don’t think that you’ll be able to get anything done until you do.”

Without her noticing it, Fen had gotten close enough to Margo to touch. She put her arms out to Margo, hesitantly.

“You’re allowed to have emotions, you know? To not always just be so together. It’s okay.”

Margo shook her head, unable to say anything more, but she let Fen hug her in the middle of the goddamn hospital hallway.

Finally, finally, she broke down and cried.

  


* * *

  


Margo banged open the door to her dark apartment, threw her keys onto the counter, and made a beeline for the kitchen. This situation called for copious amounts of alcohol. Sure, she had just had a huge emotional break down, but it wasn’t like she was about to sleep after all that. Might as well channel it into something productive.

After pouring them both generous glasses, she dumped her bag out on the table, looking for the paper Kady had given her, handing it to Fen.

“Oh, he’s going to be at the charity gala for victims of abuse.”

“A charity gala for _victims of abuse_? That two-faced cocksucking hypocritical mother FUCKER,” swore Margo.

“I’m supposed to go to that, I’m giving a speech” remarked Fen. “Maybe I’ll just stab him myself. Grind my heel into the bastard’s heart.”

Margo was temporarily distracted thinking about how unfortunately hot that mental image was when-

“WAIT.” She grabbed at Fen’s arm, brain on fire with sudden inspiration. “Fen, that’s a GREAT idea”

Fen almost spilled her drink. “What? No, that’s a stupid idea! I was joking!!” She looked at Margo in real alarm, and Margo couldn’t help but giggle a bit.

Step 4 in killing a man: Make a plan.

“No, no, I mean, killing him at the gala! I mean, first off, that’s some real fucking poetic justice. Second, he’ll never see it coming!” Maybe it was just the alcohol talking, but Margo thought she was onto something here. She remembered Reynard’s face from the office (God, had it really only been a few days ago?), so _shocked_ that a woman would think to fight back against him. “The bastard’s gotten complacent. Everyone’s so scared of him they don’t even think to go after him, so he’s gotten sloppy. You know what he’s like—he can barely believe that anyone would think to insult him to his face. He’d never expect someone to come after him in a public place, especially not a female someone. It’s time someone reminded him of _his_ place in this world.” Margo slapped her hand down on the table in her enthusiasm.

“Ohhh, I think that- I think that could work.” breathed out Fen, eyes alight. Margo could almost see the gears turning in her head. Fen ran her hands through her long, soft hair, semi-muttering to herself. “I mean, everyone knows that the best place to hide is in plain sight—no one would ever expect that, and god, that would be so appropriate!” She laughed, looked up at Margo. “And, I can get you into the gala, no problem. You can be my plus one.” Fen winked at Margo, who had to fight to keep her smile to a reasonable size.

“Fen, baby, this is gonna be fun.”

  


* * *

  


Step 5: Execute said plan.

The gala was being held in the local university’s museum of archaeology, a sprawling old brown-brick building, the kind that had been added on to so many times that the layout looked like it had been designed with an etch-a-sketch. It really was quite lovely, Margo thought to herself, what with the cherry trees blossoming and the reflecting pool in the front courtyard. An excellent setting for a murder mystery.

Before getting out of the car, Fen turned towards Margo, taking in a shaky breath. “Well, in case something goes wrong in there, I just want you to know it’s been a pleasure working with you, Margo Hanson.” She held her hand out.

“Jesus Christ Fen, no one’s going to DIE. I mean, besides Reynard.”  Margo rolled her eyes, getting out of the car. She was wearing a slinky wine-colored number with a slit up the side for maximum mobility. She also had on a blond wig, elbow-length gloves, and eyepatch. That way people would be more likely to remember the strange elements of her outfit, instead of her face. An old trick, but a solid one nonetheless.

Hidden in her spanx girdle was a plastic gun. While in general Margo would say she’s pro-gun laws, it sure did make her job easier if she could just 3D print a gun. Virtually undetectable, untraceable, and easy to take apart after a job was done. However, to avoid any metal detector incidents, she only had one bullet, hidden inside her bra. Any alarms went off, she would just blame the metal wiring in her bra. This meant she had to make damn sure her shot count.

Fen quickened her pace to catch up with Margo, then grabbed her hand as they walked up to the door. Margo looked down at it, but didn’t question it.

Fen had her braided into a crown and was wearing a pale pink dress that really shouldn’t have worked on someone that white, but somehow, it did. It was all soft feminine curves, reminding Margo of spring in May, and huh, was she _into_ Fen? That would be something to think about in the future. After this was all over.

At the door, Margo introduced herself as Janet Pluchinsky, reporter for a small-time newspaper. On second thought, she had just had Fen steal her a press pass, on the grounds that it would be better if Margo weren’t linked to Fen in the aftermath.

The guard gave her a quick once over, then gestured for her to put her clutch in an x-ray machine.

A bag check—how cute. Like she needed to smuggle a weapon in to be a threat.

  


* * *

  


Turns out, she didn’t even need to go to Reynard. During the first speech of the night, he sauntered over to sit down in the empty chair next to her.

“I don’t think I’ve seen you around before, miss…” he looked for her badge, “Pluchinksy. I’m Richard Gaines.” He held out his hand, leering. Margo tensed up, automatically on alert.

“Pleasure’s all mine,” she smiled coyly at him. “I’ve heard quite a lot about you, Mr. Gaines. I was soooo excited to hear you would be hear tonight.” (Never hurt to butter up a man’s ego.)

“Well, I’ve been a huge supporter of woman’s rights since the beginning. We can’t claim America as the birthplace of freedom until we have gender equality, I’ve always said.”

The hypocrite. Did he even know what this benefit was for, other than a vague notion of ~feminism~?

“And please, call me Richard.” He reached out to cover her hand with his. Margo flinched internally.

“Well, those are words I can drink to,” she said, raising her wine glass. “To gender equ- Oops!” Margo ‘accidentally’ spilled wine all down her front. “How silly of me! Well, excuse me, Richard, I’m just going to go to the ladies’ room to clean myself up.”

She winked at him, then left, still giggling.

  


* * *

  


As she had expected, he follower her to the bathroom a few minutes later, locking the door behind him. Margo pretended to be busy doing her makeup.

He immediately came up behind her and grabbed her by the ass, leaning over to whisper, “Let’s get down to business, shall we?”

She couldn’t breathe.

Margo tore out of his grip. Now that she had him where she wanted, she didn’t need to pretend anymore. “Don’t you _dare_ fucking touch me!”

“What’s the matter, honey?” He kept moving towards her as Margo slowly backed away. “You were so friendly just a minute ago.”

“It’s called acting, _Reynard_.”

“I don’t believe you. You know you want me.”

“Oh yeah?” Her voice shook. “Like Julia wanted you? You really think someone like her, someone that brave, that smart, that _good,_ could _possibly_ want you? Why can’t you just leave us the FUCK alone.”

He snarled, grabbing her by the wrist. “Look, I wouldn’t expect you to understand, but let me try to explain. I, I am your god. And you, are nothing. I can do anything to you that I want, and _nothing_ can stop me.”

His breath was hot and rancid on Margo’s face, smelling of alcohol. For an awful moment, Margo was paralyzed.

“And you’re gonna let me, because otherwise I will go out there _right now_ and fucking _murder_ little Ms. Wicker for setting you on me. Oh, you thought I didn’t recognize you from that day in Ms. Henckels office _?_ ”

Hearing the threat against Julia jump started Margo’s heart. She was the one with the power, she reminded herself, inching her left hand up to wear her gun was hidden. Reynard finally shut up when he noticed it pressing into his ribs.

“Someone needs to teach _you_ a lesson,” ground out Margo between clenched teeth.

“Oh, you don’t really think you’re gonna squeeze that, do you? A cute little girl like you? I promise that if you put it down right now, I won’t press charges.”

The absurdity of Reynard thinking he held the power here suddenly made the whole situation very funny. In that moment, Margo realized that she didn’t have to listen to him. She’d been going about this all the wrong way, she didn’t need to play by his rules!

“Women,” began Reynard, gearing up for what Margo could just tell would be a horrifically boring lecture. Now that she wasn’t scared, she felt no need to listen. There was no point trying to argue with this kind of guy.

Instead, she shot him point blank in the heart. She was gone before the body even hit the floor.

  


* * *

  


Clean up was quick and easy. There were no cameras in the bathroom, and Adiyodi had taken care of the rest. All the security cameras on the floor should currently be playing reruns of “Buffy the Vampire Slayer.”

The gun was dismantled; some pieces got flushed down the toilet in the men’s room, the rest shoved down her bra.

 _Men_ , she thought disgustedly as she changed into her spare set of gloves. Had Reynard really thought she was gonna wait until his little speech was over? She shook her head. Men always thought everything revolved around them, that the world would cater their dramatics. Killing this guy wasn’t even in the top five of things she had to do today. If she hurried, she could get back before the start of Fen’s speech.

  


* * *

  


Fen managed to get through most of her speech before a half-strangled cry came from the women’s bathroom. Someone had finally found the body, Margo thought amusedly to herself. Considering how big of a deal Reynard thought himself, you would have expected someone to notice his absence in less than forty-five minutes. Just goes to show what happens when you pay your bodyguards to leave you alone while you rape women in the bathroom, she figured.

The museum went into lockdown, the police arriving within ten minutes. The whole thing was quickly devolving into madness, people rushing everywhere, the woman who had found Reynard going into hysterics, and the reporters having an absolute field day—they had come here expecting a relatively low-key benefit, and instead had gotten a high-profile murder!

However, after about two hours, after searching and interrogating every guest, the police had to admit that they couldn’t find any reason to detain them any longer. There was no murder weapon, no fingerprints, no one had seen Reynard leave the room (most people having been distracted by the announcement of dessert), and something the police were refusing to disclose had happened to the security footage. Adiyodi really was a genius.

Margo, still high off her success, and fully enjoying her cover story as “obnoxious reporter” (heavily based off Rita Skeeter) was one of the last people to leave.

“Do you have any last comments?” She waved her phone animatedly at the chief of police, who looked like he would happily add her corpse to the night’s body count.

“No, Ms. Pluchinsky, there is nothing left I can say to you.”

“What about one last photo? Maybe a selfie?”

“PLEASE, Ms. Pluchinksy, we need you to leave now.”

“Oh! But what if I’m the murderer! You should re-interview me just in case, maybe on the scene of the crime?”

The chief of police looked at her suspiciously for a moment, then shook his head. “Any smart killer would leave the scene of the crime as soon as possible, and this was clearly the work of a master. He’s probably long gone by now. Now, I am asking you for the last time. Leave, before I need to arrest you for obstructing justice.”

Ha. These bastards thought a _man_ had been the one to finally get to Reynard.

“Fine, fine,” Margo trilled cheerfully, “I’m going. Here’s my card, just in case you change your mind!” She threw a card she had stolen from the real Janet Pluchinsky at him, waving as she walked out into the clear night.

“Fucking parasites,” she heard him mutter behind her.

  


* * *

  


Margo walked to the nearby train station, riding the line to the end, just in case anyone was watching. From there, she took a taxi to Fen’s house. She didn’t _need_ to see her, per se, since the job was over, but Margo just kind of…wanted to.

She paused for a minute at the door, not sure if Fen was even still awake, before knocking. Fen immediately opened it, and then once Margo was inside proceeded to hug her so hard she almost fell over.

“You did it!!!” She squealed into Margo’s ear, jumping up and down. “I can’t believe you really did it! He’s gone!” Fen paused for breath, then continued. “I feel like I should feel a little bad that I paid you to kill a man, but mostly I’m just so _happy_ that that monster won’t be able to hurt anyone else. Oh!” She gave a breathless little gasp, then hugged Margo a little tighter.

 “We did it. I couldn’t have done it without you.” Margo pulled back, beaming. Fen was practically glowing, looking back up at Margo.  “Ah, what the hell.”

She leaned in and kissed Fen. It was, to put it simply, really fucking nice.

“Oh, hang on-” Fen pulled away, and Margo immediately stopped. She might be a cold-blooded killer, but she was all about consent.

“Sorry, is this not okay?”

“What?” Fen looked up, startled. “No, I just remembered I need to turn off my porch lights. I didn’t want to get too distracted and forget.”

Margo just, broke down laughing at this. It was just such a _Fen_ thing to say. “Oh, so I distract you, do I?” She said, wiping her eyes.

“Since day one,” Fen responded, with a seriously unfairly sexy bite of her lip. “Wanna find out how badly?”

“Absolutely.”

  


* * *

  


Afterwards, Eliot gloated non-stop, the bastard.

“HA. I TOTALLY called that.”

They were in Margo’s apartment this time, having a “best friends’ brunch.” It was something new they were trying out.

“Yeah, yeah, eat your eggs.” But Margo didn’t really have it in her to be angry, not now. Turns out, life really did get better. She’s not saying having a girlfriend solved all her problems, but it sure didn’t hurt, either. And she’d gotten more than just that out of killing Reynard.

“Hey, El, I’ve been thinking about what you said, about making a positive impact. I think you- I think,” god, Margo hated admitting she was wrong, ‘I think you might have been on to something there.”

Eliot arched his eyebrow at her. “Margo Hanson? Admitting someone else is right?”

“Shut up. Anyways, look.” Margo got up to grab a stack of paper, then dumped them in Eliot’s lap. He looked confused, but started opening the one on top.

“To whoever killed Reynard,” he read out, “thank you for making us safer.” He opened the next one.

“The bastard deserved it. You’ve done more for this city than any cop.” Eliot looked up at her, confused. “How did you get all these?”

Margo couldn’t help it anymore; she was beaming. “You know how victims of shootings get shrines? Well, apparently, Reynard gets these instead. Rafe’s been picking them up for me.”

Eliot started laughing. “Holy shit. Thank you letters. Maybe I should start dabbling in vigilante justice.”

Margo sat down again, eyes glowing. “But that’s exactly it, Eliot! Don’t you see? Maybe we don’t have the nicest jobs, but we can still help people. We’re assassins, after all, we don’t play by society’s rules. Why _not_ do some vigilante justice on the side? We’ve got the power, now let’s do something with it!”

Eliot looked at her, eyes searching. “You’re serious about this?”

She tossed her head. “Yeah El, I really am. You said it yourself, we can’t go on like this.”

“And you want my help?”

“Duh. We’d be SUCH an iconic megabitch duo.” She smirked at him. “And I need you to keep me…grounded. Just think about it, okay?”

Eliot started smiling. “Hanson and Waugh, partners in crime. It has a ring to it. Do you have any jobs in mind, or is this all strictly theoretical?”

Margo grinned back. “Well, Kady did just call me. She said something about helping to get her boyfriend out of the clutches of a ‘fascist knowledge-hoarding regime,’ I believe.”

“Well,” Eliot’s eyes sparkled, “I always did hate libraries.”

They got down to work.

**Author's Note:**

> as per always I know nothing about the chosen career of these characters, however presumably none of you know a whole lot about being an assassin, so let's just ignore reality for this one.


End file.
